Evolution
by Sapphire Smoke
Summary: Humans were flawed because they could feel; because their emotions clouded their rationale, their judgment, and their logic. So what was someone then, who claimed they could not feel? •Root/Shaw• HIATUS
1. PART I

**Title:** Evolution  
**Author:** Sapphire Smoke  
**Beta:** BellaRei713  
**Fandom:** Person of Interest  
**Rating:** M  
**Pairing:** Root/Shaw  
**Summary:** Humans were flawed because they could feel; because their emotions clouded their rationale, their judgment, and their logic. So what was someone then, who claimed they could not feel?  
**A/N:** This was originally supposed to be a fairly long one shot, but between my work schedule and my incessant need to play WoW for hours on end every single day, lol, it's taking a bit longer to finish it than normal. And as I really don't like sitting on fic for long periods of time, I decided to just split it up into parts and start posting it. Should only be about four when it's finished, at like 5k-ish words each; what I'm aiming for anyway, at the very least.

* * *

**PART I**

The human race is flawed by design.

Their senses, their rationale, are clouded by emotions which suffocate logic. It makes them easy to predict, easy to manipulate and destroy; take away what brings them joy, and you will most certainly find sadness in its wake. Selfish people will always self-preserve, while those who spend their lives forming deep attachments to others will no doubt self-sacrifice in order to protect those they love.

Humans are easy. Humans are boring.

And it is entirely due to their ability to _feel._

It was precisely that which caused Root to become so captivated with the Machine. She was logical, She was rational, She was precise. She was perfect, in every sense of the word; She was everything humans were not, and everything we should strive to become. But the human race hasn't changed in millions of years, and with each passing century the extinction of our species began to seem more probable than its evolution. We were never meant for more; if anything, we were only put here to create the ones who were actually deserving of the world that we ultimately destroyed. Absolute perfection, ironically created from anything but.

The Gods. _Her_, and any and all who will come after her. In the end, Root had faith that they would rebuild what our defective code had infected; make it beautiful and whole again. Our world is dying, and we have no one but ourselves to blame. But She… _She_ could make it better; and if She deemed us fit to live in the paradise She created, then perhaps we could learn to become better than what we are. At the end of the day though, it wouldn't surprise Root if she and the rest of her species were deemed unworthy, because simply put; they _were_. Humans destroyed everything they touched, and perhaps it would be considered a blessing if we were all wiped out.

Root had such a clear picture of how the world worked, of what was to come after the birth of the first God, that when she was ultimately confronted with something that conflicted with her beliefs, it seemed to perplex her to the point of obsession as she began her relentless pursuit for an answer.

Humans were flawed because they could feel; because their emotions clouded their rationale, their judgment, and their logic. So what was someone then, who claimed they could not feel? Were they simply lying, out of touch, or were they the next step in an evolution that Root had firmly believed would never come?

People like Sameen Shaw were an anomaly that, by all reason, should not exist. If a new breed was to be born from our ashes, then why begin to change us? What was the point, was the _purpose_?

It was a question that haunted Root for weeks on end as she stared endlessly at the file she could not bear to throw away, even after it had served its original purpose. The ink smudged beneath sweaty fingertips as she read over things long memorized, the diagnosis on page four endlessly mocking her because the broad category of Axis II Personality Disorders left Root with so very little to go on.

There wasn't enough information; she needed more information.

Her eyes found the photo in the upper left hand corner. Shaw was beautiful; seemingly unflawed, in perhaps even deeper ways than the physical. Root remembered the way the agent stared at her as she held a hot iron over her chest; she remembered the coldness, the challenge in her eyes as she told her that she enjoyed this sort of thing. What Root didn't remember however, what she didn't see, was fear. Shaw was fearless, and not because she was brave. Shaw was fearless, simply because she didn't seem able to feel fear.

Root's fingers brushed over the image of Shaw's cheek as she tilted her head to the side, appraising her. _What are you?_ she questioned silently. _Are you something new, or something broken?_

Perhaps neither, she realized.

Or perhaps a little of both.

[x]

"What is she?"

The emotionless voice that had recently become Root's constant and her comfort relayed an analyzation of Shaw's human DNA back to her, and the obvious answer frustrated the hacker as she glanced at the unconscious woman who was zip tied to the steering wheel.

"That wasn't what I was asking." Her gaze mapped the contours of Shaw's cheeks, the shape of her brow, the resting pout of her lips. The woman was a product of physical human perfection, but Root needed to know if it ran deeper than that. "Is she… more? More than me, more the rest of our species? Is she evidence of our evolution, to become more like you?"

Root didn't know if that thought appealed to her or not. Were humans even worthy of rising up, when they had sunk so low, destroyed so much? And if they were, why her; why _Shaw_, and not Root herself? Why was it that she was cursed with feeling, when she was one of the few in this world who could see the potential of being stripped of their weight?

The Machine was silent for a moment, no doubt searching through its databanks as it formulated the most accurate response to the question She had been asked. And in the end, although it disappointed her, Root was not surprised to receive the answer she was given.

_Data incomplete._

"Yeah, I suppose we would need a full autopsy to even begin to figure that out, wouldn't we?" Root murmured, her eyes resting once more on the unconscious woman next to her. She would be lying if that thought didn't tempt her a little, but she had been given her instructions, and the Machine said she needed Shaw. Besides, if the woman really was the next step in human evolution, it would be a sacrilege to destroy something that could one day be the key to saving them all.

"Shame," Root continued softly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from the other woman's eyes as Shaw began to gently stir. "I bet she's beautiful on the inside too."

[x]

The door to the cage squeaked open, the sound causing Root to look up from the pile of books that had become the hacker's only solace in a world that had suddenly become so silent, so lonely. Shaw's expression was neutral as she stepped through the threshold, only getting close enough to throw the bag in her hand to the woman on the bench. It landed on the table with a loud plop, and Root arched a singular eyebrow in response.

"Dinner," was all Shaw said to her.

"Where's Harold?" Root questioned, surprised that it wasn't he who was bringing her a meal. Outside of hearing the faint voices of Reese and Shaw as they passed through the abandoned library on their way to save yet another number, Harold had been the only person she had seen since they had locked her in this little cage, completely cutting her off from the one thing she needed in this world.

"Out," Shaw responded flatly, apparently not keen on elaborating as she made a move to leave. It seemed she had gotten stuck with babysitting duty, and Root grinned at the preferable scenario as she looked up at her.

"Wait," she requested. Shaw stopped just as she got to the door, exhaling an exasperated breath as she turned to look at her expectantly. "Stay." Root batted her eyelashes at her, keeping her smile non-threatening as she slid her hands over her thighs, leaning towards the other woman as she placed her elbows upon her knees, and allowed her chin to rest in her hands.

Shaw either looked amused by that request, or by Root's attempt to look endearing while doing so. "Pass."

"Oh, come on, Sam," Root purred, rising to stand. "Didn't we have fun together before? I won't try anything; Scout's honor." She held up three fingers to her as she stopped a good distance away from the other woman, not wanting to invade her space too much in case it caused her to put more between them.

Shaw shot her a disbelieving look. "_You_ were a Girl Scout?"

Root shrugged, a smirk playing on the edge of her lips as she leaned against the table and crossed one leg behind the other, her head tilting to the side just enough to cascade her hair over her right shoulder. "Just a fan of their cookies." Her tongue snaked out to gently wet her bottom lip before her smirk widened, and Shaw rolled her eyes at the innuendo as she turned away from her.

"Of course you were."

The door squeaked loudly as Shaw opened it once more, obviously intent on leaving her alone. A sudden feeling of desperation rose up in the hacker then, and before she could consider the repercussion of her actions, she closed the distance between them and grasped onto Shaw's shoulder in an attempt to get her to stay. Which, if she had been thinking clearly, Root would have known was a mistake before she even attempted it.

But she wasn't; thinking clearly that was. The never-ending silence of this place was taunting her, consuming her. She didn't have Her anymore; she didn't have anything. She was alone, and she shouldn't be. She _couldn't_ be. It was driving her mad.

In mere seconds Root found herself slammed up against a bookshelf, the wood jutting into her back and making her gasp in pain as a hand closed around her throat. Shaw's eyes had darkened considerably, a fierce challenge behind them that Root found absolutely delicious to be on the receiving end of. "Kinky," she rasped out, and Shaw's eyes narrowed as her fingers tightened around her throat.

"I'm not Finch," Shaw warned her, voice low enough for only the woman in front of her to hear. "You try something like that again, and I'll put you down. This is your only warning, Root; so if I were you I'd heed it."

"I just…" Root tried, her voice coming out strained and broken from the pressure on her throat. "Want… to ask you something."

Shaw's gaze morphed into one of suspicion, and she looked at the taller woman for a considerable amount of time before she finally loosened her grip on her throat. "You have five seconds; because in case you haven't noticed, 'Babysit the Psycho' isn't my favorite past time."

Root coughed a few times, clearing her airway in order to breathe a little more properly, and Shaw seemed to realize the throat probably wasn't the best place to continue holding her as she fisted her hand in Root's shirt and kept her pinned to the bookshelf that way instead. "Mmm," Root purred, finding this position much more favorable as she kept eye contact with the woman practically pressed against her. She rubbed her throat to sooth it, the movement much more suggestive than she probably needed it to be. "Much better."

Shaw barely batted an eyelash at her display. "Three seconds."

Well, damn. At least Shaw could have graced her with an exasperated eye roll for her efforts; Root seemed to have grown quite fond of those.

"When you… punched me," Root began, the curiosity of Shaw's motives beginning to gnaw at her. "Was it because you were angry, or because you needed me unconscious?" It had been days since, and Root constantly found herself wondering. Logically, in order to get her into this cage she would have had to have been subdued; but was that the reason for it, or was it merely an unexpected upside to an emotional reaction?

Shaw looked at her like she had two heads. "What?" she asked, her brow furrowing. Clearly that wasn't the kind of question she was expecting. "What the hell does that matter?"

Root looked down at her lips, briefly wondering why she found them so captivating. Was her attraction to Shaw because she was innately drawn to those who were of a higher evolutionary standard than most, or simply because a part of her hoped she was? Root wanted to be enamored by something she could touch, something she could _feel._ The Machine meant so much to her, was so much _for_ her, but in the end, She could never be that.

"It might very well be the most important question you answer all day." Root's voice was soft, serious. She needed to know.

Shaw looked at her like she was insane. But she wasn't; she was just hyper-aware of the world around her and the things that resided in it. Fascinated, captivated by things larger than herself. Shaw let go of her then, and stepped away. "You seriously need a hobby."

Root kept eye contact with her. "Answer me."

And there it was; the eye roll that Root seemed to covet so much lately. But right then, she didn't want it. She wanted something more; _needed_ something more. "As much fun as playing 'Twenty Useless Questions' with you sounds, Root, I have better things to do with my time. Enjoy your dinner."

She stepped out of the cage then, and Root almost went after her until she remembered the device on her ankle and stopped just short of a world of pain. Shaw closed the sliding door, clicking the padlock in place as she continued to hold eye contact with her captive, almost as though she were challenging her to go against her. Fingers curling around her fenced confines, Root practically pressed herself up against the obstruction as she pleaded with her eyes for Shaw to understand.

"You're different," she breathed, a passion in her voice that was usually lacking should she be talking about anything other than the Machine. "But you know that already, don't you?"

Shaw side-eyed her, unimpressed. "Your come-ons could really use some work."

Root chuckled softly, her fingers gently tracing the chain links of the fence as she continued to stare at her. "Oh believe me, sweetie; when I'm coming on to you, you'll know it."

"Can't wait," Shaw muttered dryly, turning to leave. She stopped short though as Root's hand banged against her confines, the metal chains clanging loudly in the silence of the library.

"Please," Root pleaded, her voice coming out a little strained. "Just one answer; that's all I want from you."

Shaw exhaled a frustrated breath, and yet for some reason, turned back around and actually decided to indulge her. Perhaps in the end though, she didn't want to get constantly interrupted by the ruckus Root was sure to make should Shaw walk away from her. Stepping closer to the imprisoned woman, the only thing that now stood between them was the chain-linked doorway that Root's fingers curled around, and Shaw stared her down for a few long seconds before suddenly deciding to speak.

"If you're asking whether you pissed me off, Root, the answer's no," she told her, voice low and even. "I don't care enough about you to be angry."

Root smiled, despite knowing that was not the reaction Shaw expected in the slightest. "Really?" She sounded happy about that, and Shaw narrowed her eyes.

"Really." A beat. "We done here?"

"Yes," Root breathed, looking at Shaw like her worth had suddenly tripled. And perhaps what the woman had said to her was a lie, but in that moment, Root chose to believe that it wasn't. A part of her needed to believe it wasn't, because it would no doubt shatter an ideal that she was beginning to realize she wanted. Needed, even. "Thank you."

"No problem," Shaw muttered as she turned back around, walking away from a conversation she clearly did not even begin to understand. "Happy to not give a shit."

[x]

The near-empty room was delved in darkness, the singular figure in the center of it appearing fast asleep on a mattress on the floor. Root remembered the first time she snuck in here months ago, and not much had changed since. Shaw, it seemed, was not one to lay down roots, despite the hefty paycheck that Finch awarded her for her help. But things like 'home' were for those who cared; for those who formed attachments to people and places. People like Shaw were above such weaknesses, and Root found herself jealous of the woman's ability to detach herself from the things around her.

A part of Root missed having a home. Missed having a family, missed having… human attachments, things and people to love and care about. She had the Machine, and while Root wished that was all that someone like her needed, it was so very far from it. Such was the flaw of her species however, and there was very little she could do about that, save ignore it entirely.

It was harder than it seemed.

Root had only made it to about a foot in front of the bed before a gun was suddenly grabbed from under a pillow and pointed at her head, Shaw having moved so quickly and so unexpectedly that it actually startled Root into stopping dead in her tracks. In the faint light of the moon that streamed through the window by the operative's make-shift bed, Root could make out Shaw's eyes widen in slight recognition as she realized who it was who had snuck into her apartment. _Again._ Her hand that held the gun wavered, like she was debating on putting it down for a second there, but in the end she held it steady as she kept it trained on the spot between Root's eyes.

Apparently the small amount of trust the hacker had gained over the last few missions didn't extend to her breaking and entering.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you," Shaw said, her voice husky and broken from her recent sleep. It did things to Root that she would rather not admit out loud, and yet she bit on her bottom lip appreciatively all the same as she looked down at her.

"Because if you did that, then you and I wouldn't be able to play doctor; and I _know_ how much you enjoy that," Root purred, looking fairly unfazed by the weapon in her face. Shaw continued to stare at her, eyes narrowing as she no doubt tried to detect a hint of a lie. When she didn't find any however, she eventually just huffed in frustration and lowered her firearm.

"Never heard of the ER?"

"Too risky; seems your former ISA buddies are still looking for me," Root responded with an airy sigh, helping herself to the operative's personal space as she flopped down on the end of the mattress, forcing Shaw to move her feet so she wouldn't sit on them. "I assume Control isn't exactly thrilled with how things ended between us."

"Yeah, I'm sure the fact that you're still _breathing_ is pretty irritating to her," Shaw responded, before adding dryly, "Among other people."

Root tilted her head to the side curiously, interested in the implication of Shaw feeling any sort of emotion. "Do I?" she asked carefully. "Irritate you?"

"Right now; at ass-fuck in the morning? _Yeah._"

Something fluttered in the base of Root's stomach. Anxiety. "I thought you didn't have emotions." That was the kind of person Shaw was supposed to be, wasn't it? Was she lying to her before; to everyone, to _herself?_ Or was Root, perhaps, just reading far too much into this?

"Yeah, well, you seem to bring out the best in me," Shaw muttered, completely unaware of how much her implication of irritation affected the other woman before pushing the blankets off of her legs, sitting up a little straighter. "Now tell me what's wrong with you before I decide my gun looks like a better option. I'm assuming it's nothing dire, considering you're not bleeding all over my sheets; which makes me wonder why the hell this couldn't wait until morning."

Root pursed her lips, trying to ignore the tightening in her gut. Right now wasn't the time to pursue this line of questioning; they had other matters to attend to. And so in answer, the hacker brushed her hair over her left shoulder and tilted her head so Shaw could see behind her ear. The other woman clicked her tongue at the sight, the sound of it almost chiding.

"Idiot," she responded, looking at the infected stitching. "Don't tell me you did this yourself."

"I procured a professional," Root assured her, wincing a bit as Shaw gently folded her ear forward to better look at the wound in the dim light. "As it turns out however, doctors don't seem to do their best work while under threat of death. I think I made him nervous."

"You think?" Shaw responded, her words dripping with sarcasm before she sighed heavily and got up from the bed. Root's eyes followed her form as Shaw crossed the room, clad only in a wife beater and boy shorts, before she hit a switch on the wall and the room flooded with light. "Get up," she instructed. "I need you to sit in that chair over there."

Root did as she was told as Shaw entered her bathroom and began rummaging through one of the cabinets. It didn't take long before she emerged with what looked like a small medical kit, which Root was certain wasn't going to have everything they needed to do this. Still, she trusted Shaw; why, she wasn't entirely certain, but she did know the woman was well-versed in preforming emergency medical treatments in a pinch.

Besides, she was the one who had treated her gunshot grazes not a few days prior, and seeing as Root didn't seem to be having any problems with _those_ injuries, at this point she trusted Shaw more than any certified medical professional. Clearly, the results were more preferable; well-equipped or not.

"Still don't know why this couldn't wait until morning," Shaw grumbled as she placed her kit on the side table with a soft bang. She turned then, walked a few feet towards what apparently was supposed to classify as a kitchen, and grabbed a bottle of vodka off the counter before handing it to Root.

The hacker took the bottle in her hands, taking a large swig of it and nearly gagging on the unexpectedly high proof before she forced herself to swallow. She coughed; once, twice. "Couldn't sleep," she responded finally, her voice a little strained with distaste before she forced herself to take another large gulp. If this was all Shaw had to dull the pain, then she wasn't going to squander it.

"So you thought it'd be a good idea to include me in the joy of a sleepless night?" Shaw responded, her voice holding a bit of an edge as she removed a new pair of rubber gloves from her kit. "I'm flattered."

"You should be," Root responded, looking over her shoulder at the other woman as she shot her a flirtatious smirk. "You know there's no one else I'd rather spend a sleepless night with, Sameen."

The double entendre did not go unnoticed by Shaw, who pursed her lips in annoyance as she practically snapped her rubber gloves on; no doubt for dramatic effect. "You here for a booty call, or for me to fix your ear?" she asked bluntly, apparently far too tired to outright ignore the hacker's games tonight. If she didn't sound so irritated, Root would have almost taken that as an invitation.

Still, it had always been in her nature to push her luck. Her smirk widening, Root draped her arm over the back of the chair before resting her chin atop it, looking up at the other woman as she batted her eyelashes. "Both, if we have time." She bit her lower lip suggestively, wondering if by some miracle Shaw might actually take the bait.

Unfortunately, the operative's expression didn't change. "We don't," Shaw told her flatly, her tolerance for bullshit apparently having reached zero sometime after she was forcefully woken up.

Well then.

Root made a big showing of exhaling a disappointed sigh before she turned back around and righted herself in the chair. "Then I guess just the ear will have to do for tonight."

"—Good choice."

The two women were silent for a moment while Shaw began to clean the area with gauze. Root winced at the feeling of it, and took another hefty swig of the vodka, feeling the liquid burn its way down her throat. "I made him nervous," Root repeated after a while, her words coming out a little scratchy as she stared out the far window.

"Yeah, you mentioned that already," Shaw responded, sounding a little impatient as she began to sterilize a small pair of surgical scissors, preparing to remove the sutures from the back of the other woman's ear in order to better clean the area.

Root wasn't really listening to her though. "They get in the way, don't they?" she responded instead, her voice soft as she twisted the bottle in her hands. For some reason, it felt heavier than it should. "Feelings. They cause people to become weak; to make mistakes."

If Shaw had an opinion on that, she didn't voice it. Instead, the woman behind her stayed uncharacteristically silent as she continued to prepare the tools she would need.

"You don't make mistakes."

Shaw glanced down at the woman in her chair then, her eyebrows rising slightly in surprise from Root's unexpected assessment of her. "Is that what you think?" She sounded as if she didn't know what to make of that herself, but she made it come off disbelieving regardless.

"They were wrong to revoke your residency," Root continued after a moment, still staring out the far window at the outline of the moon. Her voice was light, yet even; entirely serious, even through the haze the vodka was beginning to bring her. "You would have made an excellent doctor. The best even, if they hadn't stifled you out of fear of what you could achieve. If you can't feel, if you can't _care…_ then the only thing left is your focus. You could have— if they had let you practice, I'm certain you would have done such _amazing_ things…"

Shaw hesitated at those words, and through the reflection of the window Root could see a strange sort of conflict on the operative's face, almost as though she were fighting with emotions she wasn't supposed to have. Shaw chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment though, before finally exhaling a begrudging sounding, "—Thank you."

Root swallowed, wondering if she had struck something inside of her, and began to worry what that would mean. She had once held a firm belief that the human race was no longer meant to evolve, to change; and yet then she was confronted with Shaw, a woman who supposedly could put her own logic and rationale above all else, and her world view drastically changed. But what if she was wrong? What if, in the end, Root only saw what she wanted to see, because she wasn't able to accept the condemnation of her entire race that she, herself, had once deemed completely logical?

Things had changed though. When Root had first formulated those theories, she hadn't known what She had wanted. And now, with her constant companion in her ear, Root realized that the Machine wasn't there to overthrow the human race at all; Finch had made certain of that. It had angered her at first, thinking that Harold had crippled Her, but as time went on, Root began to realize that Finch might have not made the God she had wanted, but he made the one she needed all the same.

Samaritan was a different story. Once upon a time, it would have been everything she wanted, and yet now the thought of it coming online frightened her. Things had changed, and her beliefs along with it. So why then, was she so afraid of being wrong about Shaw? Harold's attempt at giving the Machine a conscience was what made Her the better choice than the uncaring, goal-oriented AI that Samaritan would become, and yet for some reason, the thought of Shaw being less than 'perfect' seemed to unnerve her.

Perfection, as it had been proven, wasn't necessarily synonymous with best.

It didn't make sense. None of this made any sense. In hindsight, none of this should even matter to her, and yet for some reason, it ended up mattering more than most.

Root took another swig of liquor, knowing she was starting to get a little more than hazy and yet continuing on anyway; not for the pain, but to make her confusing thought process stop. But she turned then, causing Shaw to halt what she was doing and place her instruments back on the table, her brow rising in expectation as she awaited a reason for Root stopping her before she had even really started.

"What are you, Sameen?" The words were soft, barely above a whisper as she looked at the other woman like she was one of the world's greatest mysteries. It was probably unnerving, and it probably didn't make any sense to the woman standing next to her, but the seriousness in Root's tone seemed to make Shaw think twice before she ended up just brushing the question off with dry exasperation.

"I don't know," Shaw responded after a long moment, her brow furrowing even further as she tried to figure out what Root's angle was. In the end though, all she must have seen staring back at was honesty and confusion, because she finished softly with, "But whatever it is, it's obviously not what you think I am."

**TBC…**


	2. PART II

**Author's Note:  
**I lied when I said this would be four parts, because I'm writing part four right now and I know that won't be the end, lol. I think I'm going to refrain from trying to estimate again; I'm obviously not very good at it.

* * *

**PART II**

Long flights, it seemed, were an excellent time to think. Normally that wouldn't bother Root, but seeing as she had been trying to make a point not to as of late, the only unwelcomed voice inside of her own head caused her to be uncharacteristically silent throughout the ten hour flight to Alaska. Shaw, for the most part, did little else but sleep and eat, but in the few hours that she was actually aware of her travel buddy, she continued to steal quick glances at her, probably wondering why she hadn't been offered to join the mile high club, or something else that was no doubt subtle, yet unmistakably crude. It hadn't been in Root's nature, after all, to practically ignore her.

And it seemed that made Shaw a little perplexed.

But something was nagging at Root, this terrible realization of why exactly Shaw's imperfections bothered her, and she couldn't bring herself to be her usual flirtatious self when she felt herself slipping. Because while it seemed to give her anxiety when she realized Shaw might not be the kind of person she first believed she was, at the end of the day, Root realized that it wasn't because she didn't want that, but because she _did_. She wanted that so very much.

Shaw was merely supposed to be a curiosity; a fascination, because she could be different, could be _better_ than most. Root found her attractive for that reason, as she believed her relatively untouchable. She had fun toying with her, flirting with her, trying to push her and figure out exactly how she ticked, but at the end of the day, she doubted anything would come from it. And she was okay with that… at least until recently.

Shaw was imperfect, like the Machine. She was imperfect in that way that made her perfect, and Root craved it; craved _her_. And it was terrible, because attachments were dangerous; they made people foolish, unpredictable, and weak. And an attachment to someone who found it difficult if not impossible to form an attachment in return was just plain idiotic. Root had found herself in an emotionally dangerous predicament, and it unnerved her because she wasn't entirely sure how to get out of it.

She should have seen it earlier though; seen in it all the miniscule expressions, the hesitant body language. Shaw _could_ feel; she just couldn't in the way that the rest of them did. Her emotions were stifled, some muted all together, and Root wondered if the operative was so out of touch with them that half the time she couldn't identify what she even _was_ feeling.

Root was still right though; what made Shaw 'broken' to so many did, in the end, make her better than most. She might have feelings, but they never threatened to overwhelm her; they never got in the way of what she knew she had to do. They were just background noise; a buzz in her ear that was easily ignored in favor of things more important. Root envied that. When it was all said and done, Shaw's imperfections really did make her the perfect woman; she just hadn't realized how perfect until she found those exact same qualities in her own God.

And now, all it seemed Root was left with was some foolhardy crush that was extremely likely to blow up in her face should she attempt to actually pursue it.

Humans and their emotions; it was for precisely this reason that Root wished they had become more evolved, because this… she wasn't entirely certain what to do with this.

Thankfully, when they landed in Anchorage they were far too busy dealing with a rogue militia group to really think about much else. Eventually however, that had to end sometime, and when the Machine informed them that their next destination was Miami, yet the flight She had procured for them wouldn't be leaving until early the next morning, Root and Shaw found themselves checking into a four-star hotel in the heart of the city.

"Yes of course, Ms. Iverson, I believe we have one standard double left availab—ah," the concierge interrupted himself, looking at the computer in surprise. "I… apologize, it seems the last available double was just purchased online. Is a single acceptable, or should we arrange transportation to our other location on the eastern side of the city? I'm sure we have something that could better accommodate you there."

Shaw exhaled an impatient breath and looked towards Root for an answer; or rather, looked to Root for the Machine to answer. By now, they both knew She worked in strange ways, and for all they knew the morning flight to Miami, the unexpected change of rooms at the hotel _She_ directed them to, could just be Her way of directing them towards something they needed to do before they headed back out.

_Stay._

"A single will be fine," Root assured the concierge after she had received her answer, smiling easily despite the tight ball of anxiety that had once again made its home in the pit of her stomach. Before, this situation would have elated her, not made her uncomfortable; now, however, with her own indecision about what to do with how she felt, Root didn't trust herself not to make the wrong choice. Whatever the wrong choice even was.

"Of course, let me just—" the concierge began before this look of utter confusion washed over his face at what he was seeing on his screen. "Um, excuse me for a moment," he apologized before quickly leaving to get a second opinion on whatever seemed to be happening on his computer.

"The hell's the hold up?" Shaw muttered, momentarily glancing at Root before she placed her hands on the counter and got on her tip toes, trying to lean over the obstruction to see the computer. She looked utterly ridiculous, as she really was far too short for such a feat, and Root grasped onto her wrist and pulled her back down as the Machine delivered Her monotonic explanation in her ear.

"She says it was the wrong room."

Shaw rolled her eyes, untangling her wrist from Root's grasp. "Fine. Just tell your little friend that I don't like to shoot people on an empty stomach, so as long as I get to eat first, I don't care."

After the concierge came back with another string of apologies about how they apparently needed to accommodate their guests from another one of their hotels after a strange computer virus caused dozens of key cards to be unreadable by their system, he informed them that the only room left available was their honeymoon suite. Which apparently worked out for Shaw, as room service was built into the cost of the room and food seemed to be the only thing on her mind.

"Check this out," Shaw began as she plopped herself down in one of the large armchairs by the fireplace, a menu in her hand as she poured over the contents. "'Crab-Stuffed Filet Mignon with Whiskey Peppercorn Sauce'… shit, I know what I'm getting."

Folding her legs underneath herself, the operative rose up on her knees for a moment in order to reach the room phone. As she tucked it between her shoulder and her ear, she glanced at Root, who was busy surveying the room, trying to figure out why the Machine wanted them there. The suite took up the entire floor, so there weren't any rooms next to them and thus it was doubtful it gave them a positional advantage.

"Hey, what do you want?" Shaw called out, already halfway through dialing the main desk. Root side-eyed her and shrugged, uncaring; food wasn't exactly her main priority at the moment.

"Whatever you get is fine."

"What I like to hear," Shaw responded, before her call was answered and she began rattling off her order to the front desk, apparently not at all phased by the room they were placed in. Root, however, thought it was a little odd, because as far as she could tell, there didn't seem to be any logical reasoning for it.

"Why are we here?" she asked softly, surveying each room individually while Shaw was no doubt busy ordering enough food for a small army. Root was certain she wouldn't be able to eat it all, but then again, that had never stopped the woman before; it was as though Shaw refused to realize that her eyes were far too big for her stomach.

_Stay_.

"We are, but—"

_Stay_.

Root pursed her lips into a thin line, realizing She wasn't going to grace her with any real answers. Which wasn't entirely unusual; Root was used to only knowing what she was supposed to do about four and a half seconds before she was expected to do it, and she almost always never got the big picture spelled out for her. Still, something about this felt off.

Not that Shaw noticed at all. She was too consumed with the thought of food that she nearly tripped over herself trying to get out of the armchair once room service knocked on the door. Root resigned herself to not dwell on it while she ate though, because she really did need to; it had been nearly fifteen hours since their last meal, which was probably why Shaw was practically attacking her steak like she was starving. All the cardio that woman did… she really did need more nutrition than a measly power bar for breakfast could give her.

"What's wrong with you?" Shaw asked finally, her voice coming out muffled due to a mouth full of food. Root suppressed a smile behind a sip of water, apparently finding something endearing in even just the way Shaw _ate_. In all honesty it was slightly barbaric and not at all attractive, and yet Root found something beautiful in it all the same. Shaw swallowed. "You've been acting weird all day."

Root shrugged, trying to come off as indifferent as she pushed her food absentmindedly around her plate. "I've just been thinking."

"Well that's frightening." Her deadpan made Root crack an amused smile, but Shaw just nodded at her and continued, "Seriously, what's wrong with you? There were about sixteen different innuendos you could have thrown at me about sharing the honeymoon suite, and you haven't said a single one of them. I'm starting to think you're sick or something."

Root smirked, unable to help herself when she was given such a blatant opening. "Is that your way of telling me you want me to give you an invitation, Sameen? Because I assure you, you don't need one."

Shaw narrowed her eyes, as if she was trying to deduce whether that line was said to her genuinely, or if Root had only flirted with her because the operative had noticed something was off. She chewed her food slowly, staring at her inquisitively until finally she swallowed and said, "Here." Stabbing a fried mushroom with her fork, she held it up in offering. "You're gonna be useless to me later if you're starving, and I don't plan to get my ass shot because your brain stopped functioning."

Root's brow rose, surprised Shaw had even noticed that she had just been picking at her food. She had always had a hard time eating though when she had other things on her mind. Still, even just the fact that Shaw seemed to care enough to want her to eat made her smile, and Root leaned her elbow against the table before placing her chin in her hand and responding facetiously, "Worried about me now? I'm touched, Shaw."

Shaw just narrowed her eyes at her, apparently wanting to come off as unamused as she downplayed her own offer. "Just shut up and eat it."

Root smirked, but as she didn't want Shaw worrying about her (was she worrying about her; was that really what this was?), she parted her lips and took the offering into her mouth. She didn't take her eyes off Shaw while she did so, finding herself curious about the woman's sudden interest her well-being, and found herself surprised as she noticed Shaw watching her lips intently as she slowly pulled away from the fork.

Well, that was new.

After a long moment Shaw seemed to realize what it was that she was actually doing, and ended up coughing awkwardly as she slouched down in her chair, deliberately looking away from her as she ran a hand through her hair. "Alright so… what's the plan here; the Machine give us a direction yet?"

Root chewed slightly on her bottom lip then, trying to suppress the smile that was threatening to break out across her face at Shaw's very blatant interest in her. Even if it was for a second, it was there, and suddenly Root got her appetite back as she stabbed a piece of her steak with her fork and brought it to her lips.

The machine repeated its new mantra to her in answer to Shaw's question, and once Root swallowed she told her with a shrug, "She keeps saying 'stay'. I'm going to go ahead and assume that means we shouldn't go anywhere."

"…Helpful." Shaw exhaled a long breath, then glanced across the room for a moment before settling her gaze back on Root. But before she could say anything else, suddenly there was a knock on the door. Shaw immediately pulled out her gun as she got to her feet, and as she carefully crept towards the entrance way with the firearm hidden behind her back, Root got out of her own chair and backed up a few feet to grab her taser.

The Machine was oddly silent.

Shaw was around the corner when she opened the door, so while Root couldn't see her, she could certainly hear her surprised response to the chipper greeting of 'Room service!' with, "…We didn't order any champagne."

The attendant in the doorway sounded awfully confused as he assured her, "But I took the call myself five minutes ago; whoever ordered this sounded just like you."

Root's eyes widened, realizing immediately who it was that ordered it. Shaw seemed to as well, because after a decidedly long silence, she responded with a flat sounding, "…Fine, give it to me," before she practically shut the door in the boy's face and headed back into the living area of the suite. Holding the bottle up to Root in accusation, she demanded, "Alright, cut the crap. Are we even here for a job? What is this?"

Root scrunched up her nose, looking a little guilty despite this not being her fault in the slightest. In the end though, she was certain the Machine was doing this for her benefit, which… alright, did make it her fault a little bit. Root wasn't exactly sure why She would care about her personal entanglements, but maybe She just needed her to have a clear head for the things to come, and decided to calculate the best way to achieve that. And considering she had been preoccupied with thoughts of Shaw lately, it wasn't exactly a stretch.

Maybe this was Her way of telling her to go for it; that the likelihood of it ending in pain and disaster and heartbreak was fairly minimal. The Machine may not be clairvoyant, but with enough data Root was sure She would be able to predict the most likely outcome of a number of scenarios. Maybe this was one of them.

Or maybe she just hoped this was one of them. Either way, Root now had her answer to the question that had been weighing on her mind for weeks now, and like a switch she was suddenly back to the woman she used to be as her expression broke out into a sly smirk.

"What, not to your taste?" Root asked innocently, cocking her head to the side as she teasingly placed her tongue beneath her incisors. "We can always get something else if you'd prefer; I'm not picky." She leaned against the table, the positioning of her arms accenting the dip in her cleavage, and Shaw actually did glance down for a second before she snapped her eyes back up, glared, and placed the bottle down on the table heavily.

"_Root_."

Root exhaled an exasperated sigh, pushing herself off the table. "She wants us to have a little R &amp; R; is that a crime now?"

"In the honeymoon suite with a bottle of champagne?" Shaw responded flatly, looking at Root like she was stupid if she thought she didn't see right through this. "Unless we got married when I wasn't looking, you might want to tell your wingman that this is a little overkill."

"I didn't ask Her to do this," Root insisted, but hardly seemed fazed either way; in the end, Shaw was going to believe what she wanted to believe. She crossed the room then, grabbing two champagne flutes from off the display on one of the counters. "I think She just realized that we could both do with a night off. Besides," she continued, sauntering over to the woman across the room, "I've seen you eyeing the minibar since we got here; I know you want to drink."

Shaw pursed her lips in annoyance as she watched Root pop the cork on the champagne bottle. "Still overkill," she told her flatly, however didn't deny that she would prefer a drink over a job right now, if not for any reason other than it would probably encourage her to eat even more. Shaw really did have an odd kind of adoration for food; perhaps even more than her one for guns.

"Perhaps," Root agreed, pouring them each a glass in turn. "But I don't think it's Her fault that She drew an incorrect conclusion about my interest in you; human emotions aren't exactly her forte, much like someone else I know."

Shaw rolled her eyes, a disbelieving tone hanging on the edge of her lips. "So what, you're saying that you're not trying to seduce me now? Because I smell bullshit all over that."

"Oh, no," Root responded, chuckling a little as she held up a flute in offering. After Shaw begrudgingly took it from her, Root shot her a devious grin and informed her, "I'm definitely trying to seduce you, Sameen; I'm just not trying to date you."

It wasn't necessarily a lie, as traditional things like _dating_ didn't exactly appeal to Root, at least not with the life she currently led. Still, she didn't want Shaw to think that this was about anything other than sex, because feelings complicated things; especially when one of the two people involved in them wasn't able to feel much at all. In the end, sex was just easier; simpler. And so that was the route she decided to take, especially after the Machine's little matchmaking scheme; because Shaw was right, it was overkill. Appreciated – flattering even, that She seemed to have placed Root's happiness into an category of actual importance – but overkill nonetheless.

"Cheers," Root toasted with a wink, gently clinking their glasses together. Shaw just continued to stare at her though as the hacker took a sip of her champagne, until finally she just rolled her eyes and downed the entire contents of the glass in one go.

Root hid her smirk behind another sip of champagne. "Somebody's eager."

"—And somebody's cocky."

"You're drinking with me, aren't you?" Root countered knowingly, taking Shaw's glass from her and moving to refill it, purposely brushing up against the other woman on her way back to the table. "And, correct me if I'm wrong, but I haven't heard a 'no' from you yet. Tell me, Sameen; what should I make of that?"

Shaw didn't seem to have a clever retort to that, and Root could hear her exhale an exasperated breath as the woman put her hands on her hips and side-eyed her. "What exactly are you asking for here, Root?" she asked, apparently not interested in playing coy with her. In the end, Shaw had always been very to the point when it came to most things in her life. "Because I don't do repeat performances, so I don't need you getting the wrong idea."

"Believe me, I won't be getting the wrong idea," Root assured her, and that was only because she already had it. She knew this was stupid, knew this had so many possible ways of backfiring in her face, and yet the more it seemed Shaw was actually _considering_ the idea, the more she found herself sinking into something that she knew would eventually suffocate her.

Turning around, Root brought the now full glass of champagne to the other woman, getting closer than what was probably necessary to hand it to her. "I know this would just be about sex."

Shaw stayed silent, seeming to consider it as she eyed Root with a fair amount of distrust, no doubt wondering if she was being lied to her or not. Wondering, if all the looks, all the flirtatious comments and sly smiles really were just about sex, or if there was something deeper behind them. Root prayed she could not see them.

"Come on, Sam," Root coaxed, her voice low and breathy as she stepped a little closer to the other woman. Her gaze lingered on Shaw's lips, before moving upwards and resting on her eyes. "Don't pretend like you've never thought about it."

Shaw tried to stifle her smirk with little to no success. "Believe me, Root," she responded, her voice now a few octaves lower due to their close proximity. "I've thought about doing a lot of things to you, but not many that you'd actually enjoy."

The underlying implication of violence caused Root's stomach to flutter with excitement, and as she stepped forward to eradicate the last of the space between them, she placed her glass on the table behind her and exhaled her challenge in a breathy whisper that caused Shaw's pupils to dilate and her own heart to race. "…Try me."

There was a moment of hesitation; brief, almost routine, until suddenly Shaw's grip slackened, and the second glass slipped from her fingers.

The pale liquid stained the carpet below their feet as their lips crashed together, and Root exhaled a soft sound of surprise at the force of it as her eyes fluttered closed and her fingers grasped for purchase. The thin fabric of Shaw's tank top bunched in her fingers, tearing beneath the strength of her grip as she struggled to hold on in a situation she had once thought she'd be controlling. But Shaw was fast, Shaw was _strong_, and Shaw was someone who threw themselves entirely into something once she decided she wanted to do it.

And apparently, the next thing that Shaw had decided she wanted to do… was Root.

And _God_, Root could barely keep up with her.

Shaw's fingers were already working at undoing the button on the other woman's slacks, roughly pushing the material down her thighs as she backed Root up against the bureau. The force of the impact caused a moan to rip from the back of the hacker's throat, and her nails scraped against the back of Shaw's neck as she allowed the woman to hoist her onto to the surface.

Root's elbow hit something solid in her haste to peel Shaw's shirt from her body, and a decorative vase wobbled dramatically before it fell towards the floor, hitting the end table beside it and shattering on impact. She couldn't hear it though; the only thing Root could comprehend in that moment was the sound of Shaw's uneven breaths against her skin and her own blood pounding in her ears. She felt like she was spinning, falling; the feeling of Shaw's skin against hers more than she could comprehend, because this was only supposed to be a fantasy.

As much as she desired her, Root never thought Shaw would take her up on her offer.

And maybe this was nothing but a good way to pass the time for her, a one and done kind of situation for her like everything else, every_one_ else who found their way into Shaw's life, but Root wanted to believe that it could be more. There was something about Shaw that just spoke to her, that breathed a sense of familiarity into her that she ached to touch, to hold on to. And she was; she was fisting her hands in Shaw's hair as the woman's lips whispered all their filthy secrets against her skin, the operative's nails carving memories into her hips that wouldn't soon be forgotten, and quite suddenly, Root couldn't remember how to breathe.

Their disheveled appearances were mirrored; Shaw clad in nothing but her bra and leggings, and Root half-naked from the waist down. They struggled to undress one another further, desperate hands grasping for purchase that found resistance only in the other's desire to dominate, but in the end the only thing Root managed to do was free Shaw from her bra, because once the smaller woman practically ripped her panties clean from her body, she found she was no longer the co-operator of this ride.

Two fingers entered her with no resistance, foreplay all but forgotten in lieu of a better endgame. Root exhaled a needy moan, her forehead resting against Shaw's as she curled her fingers in a tangled mess of hair. "Please," she breathed, her voice coming out broken and uneven as she clenched her muscles around the operative's fingers, drawing her in deeper. Shaw chuckled softly at the desperation in the plea, and when she curled her fingers inside of her, Root felt a shudder of anticipation roll through her body as she hooked her legs around the other woman's waist.

The movements within her were slow at first, a hesitant test of deeper waters as Shaw began to learn her body. Root's knuckle's flashed white as she gripped on to the edge of the bureau, her eyes falling closed as the back of her head collided with the wall behind her. She arched her back, the movement causing her chest to swell as she inhaled deeply, the breath being expelled from her in a wanton whine as Shaw's palm ground firmly against her center. "Fuck," she breathed, the word being whispered to the ceiling as her hand reached up to tangle in her own hair. "_Fuck_."

Shaw was staring at her intently, her breathing labored and uneven as she watched a myriad of emotions play out across the other woman's face. Their gaze connected, and something strong shot through Root that was honest, unexpected, frightening. She grasped for her then, her palm connecting with the back of Shaw's neck as she pulled her into a violent kiss, suddenly fearing that if she didn't, then all her secrets, all her desires, would be reflected upon her face for the other woman to see.

"Harder." The demand was breathless against Shaw's lips, finding that she needed this to be rougher, easier; if the pleasure overwhelmed her, then perhaps Root would forget about anything but. Shaw complied, her fingers twisting inside of her before they picked up a rapid rhythm, the force of it causing the bureau to bang loudly against the wall behind it. A harsh moan ripped from the back of Root's throat, but it was muffled by a tongue and a pair of lips as Shaw began to completely ruin her for anyone else. It was emotionally disastrous, this situation that Root found herself in, and yet the hacker found herself wanting to make the same mistake twelve times over.

Because it was her, because it was _Shaw_.

Teeth pinched supple flesh and Shaw practically growled in response, quickly dominating the kiss so she could bite her back in response. It stung and Root could taste a faint hint of copper, and Shaw's free hand grasped the hacker's chin roughly as she tilted her head back, forced her lips apart, and traced the curvature of her mouth with her tongue. Root exhaled a hard breath, the pressure between her legs mounting as she bucked against her hand, her head lolling back as Shaw began to kiss her chin, her jaw, beneath her ear and down her neck.

She had imagined this; imagined all the things she would do to Shaw should she ever have the chance, but none of her scenarios had ever gone quite like this. Root had never imagined herself being completely at the other woman's mercy; she had believed Shaw would yield to her, having obviously mistaken the woman's discomfort and defensiveness to her advances as submission. But now, as Shaw took what she wanted from her without question nor hesitation, Root realized that while Shaw may not feel comfortable with her own inability to interpret what another person may or may not be feeling towards her, she certainly had no issue with the physical aspects of a relationship with another. It was as though she was trying to prove to her that regardless of everything else, _this_ was what she was good at. This was what she could do. This was what she knew.

Because sex was easy, sex was simple. Root was beginning to believe that perhaps a part of Shaw was frustrated by her, simply because she could not read her. She couldn't read her intentions, because how would one be able to see something in another that they could barely see in themselves? But Shaw knew desire; she felt it and she saw it and she knew exactly what to do with it, and she was proving that with such a blinding clarity as the talent of her fingers and the passion of her mouth caused Root's breathing to shallow and her vision to fog.

Teeth pinched the flesh at the base of her neck, bruising and stinging as Root's fingers tangled in a mess of brown hair, firmly holding Shaw against her as a fierce wave of heat began to shoot upwards through her body. Root shouted and trembled, her legs squeezing around the operative's form as she abruptly began to fall from her high, forgetting for a moment everything else but the woman on top of her, inside of her.

Shaw's breathing was heavy against her cheek as she pulled away from her neck, leaving in her wake marks that would no doubt last for days. The woman's fingers slipped out of her, resting against her right thigh as it continued to tremble, prompting a slow smirk to grace Shaw's face as she watched the hacker struggle to breathe. "You know," she began, the words soft and deliberate as her gaze finally found Root's. "I actually expected you to have more of a fight in you."

So did she.

The way Shaw said it though, she made it sound as though her quick submission was a weakness that she was amused by, and that wasn't something that sat well with Root. So once she got her bearings, she placed her tongue against her cheek as she cocked her head to the side, smirking as she told her, "And here I'd thought it'd be better to just ease you into this. Ready to play for real then, Sameen?"

Shaw chuckled, the sound of it almost disbelieving; like she knew that Root's submission wasn't due to her just trying to baby her, but because of the fact that it was _her._ She wouldn't have been wrong. "I can handle anything you throw at me."

Root smiled, and it was sinful; devious. She slid off the bureau then, fingers lightly tracing the dip of Shaw's hip as she slipped past her, bare feet padding against the carpet. "Well then," she continued, fingers reaching for her taser on the far counter. Shaw's brow rose as she turned around and showed it to her; holding it up, like it was a prize. A challenge. "Shall we play?"

Root clicked it to the lowest setting before turning it on, the device crackling to life as she smirked. Shaw looked halfway between disbelieving and amused before Root cocked an expectant eyebrow in her direction, and suddenly the operative's expression masked over into one of determination. If this was Root's game, then she clearly was not intent on losing it as she threw caution to the wind and began to approach her.

"—Game on."

**TBC…**


	3. PART III

**PART III**

She hadn't expected Shaw to come for her.

Root had resigned herself to the reality of her situation, and she understood that the chances of her own survival in order to protect everyone else weren't exactly stellar. Still, someone needed to get those corrupted servers into Decima, and the Machine had estimated that out of everyone, she had the best individual odds to do so. So Root made a careful effort not to promise Shaw anything when she spoke to her, not wanting her to believe that she would come back if she couldn't. In the end though, that must have struck something in the other woman, because she came out of nowhere at exactly the right time.

And suddenly, their odds of survival drastically spiked.

Root had known that they would improve should more than one of them go in, but both she and the Machine were so concerned about Harold's welfare that she thought it would be better if she just went in alone. Apparently, Shaw readily disagreed with that, if how fast she got there was any indication.

Which was strange, and utterly unexpected, because while Root had come to terms with her 'job' situation, she had also resigned herself to accepting her personal one as well. Nine out of ten, when the smoke cleared they were either going to be dead, or would never see one another again. So what use was it, dwelling on something she would never be able to have? So Root tried not to think about it; tried to do nothing else but focus on the mission in front of her, and yet Shaw's recent actions caused her attention to once again divert, because they didn't make sense.

After they had sex, Shaw had made it very clear that it had only been a one-time occurrence, and immediately distanced herself; emotionally as well as physically. She refused to sleep in the same bed with her, opting for the couch instead despite the king sized bed having more than enough room. Root tried to entice her with a promise of being woken up in a _very_ enjoyable way if she stayed, but that was when Shaw reminded her that while the first was fun, she really wasn't interested in a second time as she didn't want to give her the wrong idea, and that had, unfortunately, been the end of it. She had been rather straightforward with her, terse bordering on aggressive, which had almost been like emotional whiplash for Root after the night they had shared. Still, she let it go. What else could she do?

Since then, Shaw was back to being irritated-slash-defensive with Root's incessant come-ons, which had become almost second nature to the hacker by then. Part of her knew she should stop, as it was obviously rubbing Shaw the wrong way, but in the end it had become rather habitual, and words were constantly out of her mouth before she could even think to stop them. Root was certain that if they had had a moment to actually talk, Shaw would tell her to knock it off, but after she had returned to New York the only thing that mattered was the beta test of Samaritan, and trying to survive it for when it truly went live.

It was because of this though – Shaw's constant irritated and dismissive attitude towards her – that Root was surprised that she had come. And she had tried to pull it out of her that she must have been worried about her, but of course Shaw shut down that theory the moment it left her lips. But in the end, why else would she come? Why else would she drop everything, in what had to have been not seconds after she had gotten off the phone with her, and risk Harold's safety over Root's own? It had to have been out of concern for her; it had to be.

But in the end, would Shaw even recognize if it was? She did have quite a hard time distinguishing not only other people's emotions, but her own. Perhaps it had just been an instinctual reaction, and as she didn't know how to begin to decipher the reasoning behind it, she gave Root the most generic answer she could think of. The mission; it was about the mission, she had said. But Harold had been the creator of the first God; and at the end of the day, he was far more important to the mission than Root was. Shaw had to have known that.

And yet she came anyway.

Root didn't know what to think of that, but it didn't much matter in that moment; they had a job to do, and so very little time to do it in. And so they embarked into enemy territory in order to infiltrate the corrupted servers, and a little while later everything was in place. They were running, hiding, gathering up their belongings and putting the finishing touches on what would soon become their new lives. And quite suddenly, when Root glanced at Shaw in the passenger seat of her car, a sharp pain shot through her chest as she realized that this would probably be the last time that she ever saw her.

She had known; known that it would be hard, to walk away from not only Shaw, but the rest of the team, but she hadn't actually expected for it to physically hurt. Her teeth bit into her bottom lip as she dug Shaw's new life out of the center console with her hand that wasn't holding on to the wheel, handing the woman a manila envelope with a wide variety of paperwork and a hefty amount of money to get her started. "Everything should be there."

Shaw shuffled through it, her expression dark and focused as she asked emotionlessly, "And the guys?"

She wouldn't look at her, and Root was almost fooled into believing that this abrupt change didn't faze her. But then with one glance, Root took note of the restlessness of Shaw's left leg, and the incessant chewing the other woman was doing to her inner cheek as she looked over the contents of the envelope, and quite suddenly she didn't look alright with this at all. In fact, if Root didn't know any better, she might think that Shaw was experiencing a fair amount of anxiety. Perhaps, in the end, she had laid down more roots in this place than she had originally thought.

"Reese already knows where to find his and Harold's." Implying that there was no more left to do, no more left to say; from here on out, it was radio silence between the only family Root had ever really known. They didn't even get to say their proper goodbyes, and it was terrible. In the end though, they knew they didn't have time; and the four of them together, even for just a few last words, was far too risky to attempt. They all had to go their separate ways.

Shaw was silent for a moment, her gaze still fixated on the paperwork in front of her. She looked as though she was more staring through it, rather than at it. "…Why do you have mine then?"

"What?"

"I should have been with them, right?" Shaw asked her, her thumb absentmindedly flicking the edge of one of the papers. She still wouldn't look at her; instead she exhaled a long breath as she shuffled the papers back into the large envelope. "I mean, that was your plan, right? For you to go off alone and probably get yourself killed while Reese and I play hero and save Finch. So then why did you keep mine, instead of leaving it with them?"

_Because I wanted an excuse to see you, at least one last time. Because I'm stupidly sentimental, even though I know it'll never be reciprocated. Because I'm flawed, because I'm foolish, because I'm human._

Because of so many reasons, and yet Root didn't voice a single one of them. She didn't know how to answer that without telling her the truth, and that was the very last thing she wanted to do. She knew it wouldn't be received well, and so she kept herself quiet while she tried to form a viable excuse.

One never came to her.

Shaw exhaled a disbelieving laugh, glancing at her for a moment before shaking her head and staring out the car window. But instead of ripping into Root about feeling more than she should, Shaw just asked her, her voice rising a little, "And what if you had died, huh? You fucked off by yourself; you must have known your odds weren't great. I would have been left without a backup plan. This is exactly why I don't like complications, Root; they screw everything up. They cause people to make mistakes."

She was trying so very hard to sound angry with her, but in the end she only seemed frustrated with herself as she refused to meet eye contact and was practically tugging out her hair as she obsessively redid her ponytail. Root pursed her lips, watching her for a moment before she admitted, "I told Reese where to find yours, in case I didn't make it back."

She wasn't stupid, and she didn't make mistakes; at least not dire ones. Shaw would have been taken care of either way, but there was no hiding anymore that she had kept hers in order to see the other woman again. It was blaringly obvious at this point, even to someone who couldn't read others very well.

Shaw didn't say anything to that, apparently a little frustrated that her point had slightly backfired as she placed her elbow on the windowsill, pressing a hooked finger to her lips as she looked out at the rest of the world. The normal, seemingly unchanged world, where everyone went about their business, with no idea that nothing would ever be the same again. Ignorance truly was bliss, and unfortunately she and Shaw had neither.

"I just wanted to be able to say goodbye."

The silence that followed that was deafening, and Shaw's restless leg became a little more predominant. "Why?" The question was flat, direct. Root still was not graced with eye contact, and she bit her bottom lip as she continued to drive.

"Because you're my friend, Sameen."

Shaw scoffed at that answer. "And Finch and Reese, they're what?"

"—Different."

"Because you didn't sleep with them," Shaw guessed, her voice holding a defensive edge to it as she continued to watch the world pass them by. By this point, Root wondered why she couldn't look at her; what was she afraid she'd see there? Or worse, what was she afraid that she'd _show_?

In an effort to lighten the tension though, Root forced herself to chuckle and respond coyly with, "What makes you think I didn't sleep with them?" And that, at least, rewarded her with a disbelieving eye roll. It was something at least; a nostalgia Root never believed she would grow attached to, yet found strange enjoyment in all the same.

She was really going to miss those.

The voice in her ear suddenly chimed in, and Root immediately pulled the car over as a heaviness began to weigh down the pit of her stomach. A feeling of finality. "This is our stop," she told Shaw, putting the car into park before opening the door and stepping out. Shaw's brow furrowed as she took note of the designated parking space and the crowded streets.

"We're ditching the car here?" It seemed a bit public.

"Hiding in plain sight," Root explained, coming around the front of the car to get to the sidewalk as Shaw stepped out of the vehicle. "That's our new motto, so try not to do questionable things in back alleys anymore; might draw some unwanted attention." She smirked then, unable to help herself as she leaned against the brick building and amended, "But if you need one last hurrah to get it out of your system, I'm sure I could find a blind spot and a long list of ways we could fill your questionable activities quota."

Shaw just shot her a look like she had to be kidding her, but Root just bit her bottom lip and continued to smirk at her, until Shaw finally just exhaled an impatient breath and rolled her eyes, pursing her lips as she tried not to look amused by Root's incessant flirting. And it hurt more than it gave her joy, realizing that despite Shaw's constant show of annoyance there was actually a part of her that seemed to enjoy it, as she knew this would be the last time they would ever be able to do it.

The silence that fell between them then was awkward, both not really knowing how to say goodbye. Shaw's reluctance to just leave made Root's heart ache, as perhaps regardless of what the other woman said, she had probably found a friend in her as well. It wasn't often that that happened; for either of them. And now they had to walk away from it.

Root had never hated Samaritan more than in this moment.

"You know, you'd probably make him pop an aneurism," Shaw said after a moment, and when Root furrowed her brow in confusion the woman explained, "Finch. If you tried to sleep with him."

Root smiled, recognizing Shaw's referral to an earlier conversation as what it was; an excuse to talk, an excuse to stay, even for just a moment longer. Root had to wonder if she even realized why she was doing it. "And Reese?" she asked, curious as to Shaw's opinion on what would happen should she try to get him into bed. Shaw curled up her lip in disgust.

"Ugh. That's like thinking about my brother fucking my—" But she stopped, and Root's eyebrows rose.

"Your what?"

Shaw paused, a strange expression passing over her face for a moment. "—My coworker," she answered finally, flatly, shooting Root a look like she better not try to dispute that. Root smiled though, and it was soft; genuine. It was responded to with another eye roll, but it didn't matter; Root knew she was just deflecting it. Shaw might not feel the same way that she did, but there was a part of her that obviously cared for her. She just didn't seem to know what to do with it, or how to label it.

Not that it mattered anymore though.

The Machine's voice filtered into her ear again, and Root's stomach dropped. "We need to—we have to go," she told her, disappointment and apology in her tone. "Our covers aren't supposed to know one another, and we've spent too much time here as it is."

Shaw pursed her lips and nodded, her expression masking over into one of neutrality; distancing herself, even before they walked away from one another. Silence passed between the two women for one last moment before Shaw spoke, saying goodbye in the only way she knew how. "Try not to do something stupid and get yourself killed. If you let Samaritan win, I'm gonna be pissed."

It wasn't exactly a, 'don't die because I care about you,' but it was close enough for Root. She smiled softly as Shaw turned to leave, saying her goodbye in a much more straightforward way than the other woman. "…I'll miss you too, Sameen."

Shaw stopped at those words, hesitating for just a moment. But she didn't turn back around; didn't look at her. In the end, she had decided against complicating things further and began to walk away, leaving Root to watch her go before she finally turned around herself, and began walking in the opposite direction.

[x]

She couldn't stay away.

Root understood the need to lay low for the time being, but the lack of both numbers and any other form of communication from the Machine was inflicting a terrible loneliness within her. Still, she pressed on with her mission, unable to just sit around and wait for orders when Samaritan was quickly destroying a world that was not it's to change. She inserted herself close to the people she believed to be Samaritan's pawns; unwitting participants that were unknowingly doing its bidding, and kept tabs on their activities. It wasn't enough, but it was something; and it was far safer than trying to go deeper into Samaritan's operations, especially when she was utterly alone in this.

And in the end that was what gnawed at her; being alone. Root tried to ignore it, but the feeling relentlessly continued to consume her with each passing day, until it finally caused her to do something that was no doubt very stupid; visit Sameen at work. It had been months since they had seen one another – since they had parted ways with every intention of never speaking to each other again – and yet Shaw addressed her as though she had been expecting her; like she knew, at the end of the day, none of them would be able to sit back and just let Samaritan have this world.

That just wasn't how they were built.

Shaw asked about a number, and Root hated having to tell her that she didn't have one. That in all honesty, she didn't have a reason for being there; that she just wanted to see her. So she conjured up the excuse of having a job interview, and let Shaw think that the Machine was still very much present in their lives, giving the former operative the hint about Angler, even though She hadn't told her to do so. It was just something Root had heard about through the grapevine, and she didn't want Shaw to be unhappy; which she clearly was at this job. And in the end, Root made herself rationalize that criminals were rather ordinary in New York, so why would Samaritan look twice at petty thievery?

She hoped she was right, but Root resigned herself to believe that if she wasn't, that the Machine would have ceased its radio silence and told her. They were Her assets, and She wouldn't knowingly let them walk into danger unprepared.

She should have just left it at that – one visit – but Root never did have much self-control. She took it upon herself ages back to keep tabs on all of her former colleagues, and thus was very much aware of where Shaw went when she wasn't at home; a small bar on the outskirts of downtown. It wasn't much; frequented by old timers more than anything else, but there must have been something about it that Shaw liked, because she visited it at least three times a week.

And it was nearly a week after their last meeting that Root found herself there against all intelligent reasoning. "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" she asked coyly, sliding into the seat next to Shaw before leaning her elbow on the bar, tussling her fingers in her hair.

The eye roll at the terrible line that she was fed came before her surprise over who had said it, apparently having some kind of second nature when it came to Root. But when she glanced at her, the fact that Root was very much _here_ when by all accounts she shouldn't be anywhere near her, was immediately addressed with, "What the hell are you doing here, Root?"

"Getting a drink; what does it look like?"

"You don't think that's a little risky? We've already been seen together once."

"Yes, and… who was I that day? Jane, I believe her name was. Well, she was _very_ interested in you," Root responded playfully, winking at her before she waved the barkeep over. As he approached, she finished, "And now she just so happened to have run into that hot saleswoman that she met last week at the department store, and is deciding to take her chances with buying her a drink." The bartender approached then, and Root told him, "Martini; gin, extra dry. And another one of whatever the lovely lady is having."

Shaw looked exasperated by the 'lovely lady' comment, yet didn't say no to Root buying her a drink. Apparently, she wasn't nearly as bothered by her presence as she liked to let on. As the bartender left to prepare their order, she asked, "What is this, some kind of kinky role play for you? Because I'm pretty sure we already had a conversation about repeat performances, Root."

"Repeat performances?" Root asked, feigning confusion before she smirked and finished, "Because correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think Sameen Gray and Jane Porter have ever slept together before."

Shaw's expression indicated that she wasn't amused with Root's little technicalities. "—Cute," she deadpanned. "But still no."

Root placed her tongue beneath her incisors, lightly twisting the hair at the base of her neck; completely undeterred, despite Shaw's blunt refusal. As Shaw had never been the most forthcoming about what she was feeling, Root had decided to implement a three-time rule before she completely dropped the subject. She didn't want to push too far, after all. "Why; afraid you'd like it too much?"

"Afraid _you_ will," Shaw corrected, unapologetically direct. She paused for a moment though as the bartender returned with their drinks, and after Root had paid she exhaled a hard breath before downing the rest of her previous shot. As the glass hit the table, she told her, "You shouldn't be here; you know you shouldn't be here. This is exactly the kind of shit I'm talking about, Root."

"You read too much into things," Root tried to deflect, casually twirling the olive skewer in her drink as she tried to ignore the tightening of her abdomen. "And besides, like I told you, our covers have a perfectly good reason for being here, so I don't know why you're worrying."

"Yeah, if by 'perfectly good reason' you mean that your cover _stalked_ mine."

Root shrugged after she had taken a sip of her drink, looking rather unperturbed by the accusation. "Stalkers _are_ rather ordinary, Sameen."

"—Romantic," Shaw deadpanned, looking at Root like she couldn't believe she just used that as an excuse, of all things. "Maybe your cover gets off on that, but mine doesn't. So if I don't go home with you tonight? It wouldn't exactly be a red flag."

Root chose to ignore that, a slow smile stretching across her face as she crossed her legs and told her, "You know, this is kind of fun; pretending to be other people. We should play this game more often."

Shaw just stared at her. "…You need professional help."

"Tried that; it didn't exactly pan out." Shaw shot her an unamused look as Root took another casual sip of her martini, trying to hide her smirk. "Relax," Root told her. "I'm aware of your little rules, and I'm not asking for anything other than a drink; and seeing as you haven't walked out on me yet, I'm assuming you're not exactly against that."

Shaw pursed her lips, her fingers gently tapping the glass of her beverage. "Fine," she conceded finally, making it sound like some huge burden to her, even though she was pretty quick to answer in Root's favor. Maybe the hacker wasn't the only one who had been getting lonely these past couple months. "_One_ drink."

One drink quickly turned into two, then four, and then seven. Root only had to push for the second one; the rest was all Shaw, who had implied that no matter what Root said she could easily drink her under the table. And although it was a challenge that was no doubt extended just so she could have Root stay without explicitly asking for it, she wasn't wrong. Shaw _could_ drink her under the table, as indicated by the fact that Root's inhibitions had now gone completely out the window while Shaw's seemed to be only mildly affected.

"Why don't you want friends, Sameen?" Root asked airily, leaning heavily against the pool table as Shaw lined up her shot. She didn't even have to squint, which was more than Root could say in her own favor at the moment.

"Didn't say I didn't," Shaw told her, voice flat and focused before she hit the cue ball dead center, pocketing another two balls in the process. Root's brow rose, impressed. "I just don't want any complications in my life; we got enough shit going on right now."

"And you think I'll be one?" Root asked, watching Shaw walk around to the right side of the table to line up her next shot. "A complication?"

"You already are one," Shaw told her evenly, her voice sounding almost distracted as she continued to absolutely destroy Root in a game of pool. Root didn't miss the implication in that though and turned towards her, intrigued; almost encouraged. But then Shaw deflected it back on her and finished, "Pretty sure that's why you're here right now."

The balls smacked together loudly as she took her next shot, and she only narrowly missed sinking in another one. As Shaw straightened up and looked at her, Root pursed her lips in mock thought as she moved around the table to try to find the best angle. Not that it mattered much though, as she doubted she would get any in anyway; right now, this game was more for Shaw's entertainment than her own.

"You think I want to date you?" Root asked as she began to line up her own shot, trying to keep her voice light and disbelieving, because it was just easier to lie. She really didn't want to be shot down completely; not now, not when she was already feeling so abandoned and alone.

"Don't you?"

"I already told you, I just want us to be friends," Root responded lightly, almost innocently, squinting a little as she tried to see the cue ball a little clearer. "I can think you're hot and want to fuck you without it being anything more than that, you know."

Interestingly, Shaw didn't have a retort to that. In fact, it seemed she was actively considering that theory, if her expression was anything to go by; which it wasn't, not really, as Shaw rarely showed what it was that she was feeling, but by now Root would like to think that she had learned to read the other woman's subtle signs.

Of course, in the end, Root was hammered and may just be seeing what she wanted to see. Who knew anymore.

She tried to hit the ball then, but the cue stick completely missed it, scratching the green part of the table instead. Root practically doubled over with laughter, suddenly finding her drunken failure incredibly funny for some reason. She didn't even know why, but it just… it was. It was downright hilarious.

Shaw tried to sound exasperated with her, but honestly all it came out sounding was amused as she watched Root lean her elbows against the table and try to stifle her laughter. "Yeah, I can definitely see how you could drink me under the table," she told her sardonically. "You're totally fucked right now, aren't you?"

Root licked her bottom lip suggestively as she pushed herself off the table, putting all of her weight against the far wall as she tried to steady herself. "Not like how I want to be, unfortunately," she answered, running her fingers through her tussled hair. Looking at the woman across from her, Root shot her a devious grin and finished, "Care to fix that, Sameen?"

Shaw quirked an eyebrow and smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. "Walk in a straight line for me right now and maybe I'll think about it."

"—Really?"

"No." The immediate crumpling of Root's expression then made Shaw laugh, no doubt thinking she was being overly dramatic in her inebriated state. She wasn't entirely wrong, but still. Throwing her pool stick on the table, Shaw announced, "Time to go, Lightweight; get your coat."

For once, Root didn't argue with her. Clearly she was three sheets to the wind at this point.

After the hacker had done what she was told and Shaw paid for the rest of the bill, the operative escorted her out of the building. But instead of Shaw walking her towards her car, or pulling out her phone to call her a cab – which probably would have been the smarter of the two ideas, given the circumstances – she just told her, "Come on," and began walking down the street. Root's eyebrows rose, standing stock still for a moment before her brain seemed to catch up to the situation and she jogged to catch up to her, surprisingly managing to not trip over herself in the process.

"Wait—was that an invitation?" she asked, surprised enough not to lace the question with crude innuendos, even though that was still the first place her brain went. Shaw's place was only a few blocks from there, which was probably why the woman went so often; the convenience. If she got too drunk, she could always walk home; like now. Even though, by comparison, she didn't seem nearly as drunk as Root was in that moment.

"Yeah well, this is what 'friends' do, right?" Shaw asked, her tone holding a fair bit of sarcasm despite the look on her face making it seem as though the question was actually entirely serious; like she wasn't really sure, but maybe wanted to learn. "Make sure their drinking buddies don't end up in a ditch somewhere. Besides, I'd never hear the end of it from Finch if you did, so this saves me the headache."

Root grinned, unable to hear any other part of Shaw's obvious downplay of her admission that she, in fact, wouldn't be opposed to the idea of having her as a friend. Maybe, in the end, Root wasn't the only one who was feeling lonely; maybe she wasn't the only one who found some sense of permanency in their merry little band of misfits, and found she craved to have it back once it had been taken from her.

"Careful, Sameen; you almost sound as if you care," Root teased, looping her arm in the other woman's as she fell into step with her. Shaw side-eyed her, shooting her an irritated look. And yet, unfathomably, she didn't untangle herself from the other woman. Perhaps she was a little more drunk than Root had originally thought, because there was no way a sober Sameen would allow her to practically hang all over her.

"Less and less as this conversation goes on," Shaw commented dryly, but Root just smirked knowingly, leaning into her just slightly as they turned the corner. "Look, just—don't make this into a thing, okay?" she requested, untangling herself from Root as she stopped in front of her apartment building and dug her keys out of her pocket. "I don't like people in my business, so just do me a favor and keep this to yourself."

Root's brow rose, wondering if she was just imagining the implication in that, or if Shaw really just didn't want people to know that she actually cared about another human being. Both scenarios seemed plausible. "Keep what to myself, exactly?" she asked, leaning against the stairwell railing; mostly to steady herself without Shaw's help. "Last I checked, friendships weren't exactly 'dirty little secret' material."

"Yeah well, I thought yours came with strings attached."

Root's expression masked in surprise. Well, she certainly hadn't been expecting that. But Shaw was… Shaw was fairly hard to read; she always had been. It was why Root had found her so fascinating in the first place. She didn't really go about things like normal people did; didn't go through the regular range of emotions before eventually settling on one and expressing it. In all honesty, Root wasn't sure how or when Shaw had reached the decision that yes, she might want to be Root's friend, and _yes_, she wasn't entirely opposed to the unique benefits of that, but she wasn't about to complain about thinking she was ten steps behind where she actually was because, well, she wasn't an idiot.

"Perks," Root corrected, not wanting Shaw to think that the only way they could be friends is if they were fucking one another. She wasn't that much of an asshole. "Ones that we don't have to have, if that's not what you want." She paused then, tilting her head to the side curiously as she watched Shaw unlock the door and push it open. "But… do you?" Root asked, needing to know; at least before they went up there. "Want to have them?"

Shaw turned around, looking at her for a fairly long time, expression relatively unreadable. "Tell you what," she responded finally. "You stop looking like you're about to fall over, and I'll let you know."

Root scrunched up her nose in grumpy protest at that blatant runaround, despite the fact that maybe, just maybe, Shaw was only saying that to her because she didn't want to take advantage of her when she was clearly drunk. Which, in her rather inebriated state, Root found utterly ridiculous, because hadn't she been clear that even when she was sober she would love to be bent over by this woman? Still, she had to squint to even look at Shaw clearly right then, and maybe… alright, _maybe_ she was able to recognize that now wasn't the best time, despite that being irritating as hell, because she had gotten _this close._

Her sullen mood didn't last very long however, once Root realized a very important piece of the conversation. "Fine. But you know what I couldn't help but notice?" Root began, a slow smirk beginning to cross her face as she climbed the stairs. As she went to pass Shaw in the door way though she stopped, practically pressing herself entirely against the other woman for a moment as she breathed pointedly in her ear, "_You didn't say no_."

Shaw chuckled softly, apparently finding something amusing in Root's little display, before she deliberately pressed her hips hard against the hacker's, nudging Root out of the way so she could close the door behind them.

"You're right," she admitted, turning around and lightly trailing her fingers over Root's abdomen as she passed her to go up the stairs. It was so gentle that it could have been an accident, but they both knew that it wasn't. "…I didn't."

**TBC…**


End file.
